


Thranduil on the Ridge

by Zaadi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
Genre: AUJ prologue, Dramatic Monologue, Gen, Internal Monologue, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaadi/pseuds/Zaadi





	Thranduil on the Ridge

 

Fleeing dwarves.

                           Burning city.

                                                No dragon.

The drake was airborne when I left my realm—

there’s only one place it would go: the gold

is all it wants. It’s been appeased. So if

I take another step, to what do I

commit? The dragon’s death? The Lonely hoard

respectfully returned to Thror? For Thror

still lives—his death would be in Thorin’s eyes.

So what does Thror—or Thrain, or Thorin—think

is owed to him? The dragon’s lodged, its claws

enmeshed, its lust complete—thus casualties

are capped. But that can change. Perhaps I send

my army down—to face the enemy

alone in unfamiliar space: the Dwarves

are scattered, wounded, wielding what weapons

that they could grab, but are those arms enough?

Is too much of their arsenal inside?

What contribution can they really give?

And Dale? Will humans help? Or will they say

they’ve lost enough as is? I won’t engage

that dragon by myself, but when the Dwarves

regroup, will Elves still bear the brunt? And then?

How long to slay the dragon? Days? Or months?

Am I about to pledge myself to years

of a protracted siege? A siege in which

more death is certain, victory is not.

And as the days of carnage pass, will Thror

at any point permit defeat—he won’t:

his precious treasure matters more than lives.

We’ll all go up in flames to slake his greed.

Indeed, the dragon might attack my realm

in vengeance; when my people ask me why,

what answer will I give? They’ll sacrifice

themselves—for what? A grasping dwarf who would

not stop, whose overweening confidence

solicited this grief, whose gratitude

is scarce—will Thror or Thrain or Thorin say

_Thank you_? Assurances of death are all

I have if I proceed, all else is tossed,

a set of shrinking probabilities.

So no. We’re done. Whoever breathes today

shall breathe tomorrow. That is all I can

deliver you.


End file.
